


Keys

by scully_dubois



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scully_dubois/pseuds/scully_dubois
Summary: Vignettes of all the times Mulder & Scully use a key to get into each other's apartment.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	1. Prologue: Squeeze

**Author's Note:**

> Starting out post-Squeeze (s1, ep 3)...This will mostly follow canon, this is sort of a prologue.

After Tooms, Mulder knew he had to broach the subject. He also knew, despite the limited time that Scully had graced his life thus far, that she wouldn’t react like Diana had. Scully would make it difficult. And he understood this--respected it, even--but it still had to be done. He had barged into her apartment one time too many.

Seeing Tooms nesting in his jail cell banishes any misgivings Mulder has left. Those yellow-green eyes and their inhuman desire to desecrate their victim, stealing away the purifying organ...and it had almost worked. 

Mulder wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to Scully on his watch. This is what he’s thinking when she brushes her hand down his bicep and leads him away from the immortal monster. He’s still thinking it as they exit the jail and he does the mental math and realizes that Scully will be 58 in thirty years and he can’t imagine any other fate for her than being the head of the Bureau, that wasn’t a joke. 

“Scully?” He had known that name first through Vin Scully, who had been announcing Dodgers games for as long as he could remember. It slips off his tongue so naturally now.

“Yes?” She shifts her gaze toward him, and he’s taken aback. How can he focus on the task at hand when there are entire oceans in her eyes? 

He knows that for this to be a success, he has to go the roundabout way.  _ Does reverse psychology work on a doctor, _ he wonders? It’s worked on some psychologists he’s known.

He decides to find out. “I was just thinking, um, since it looks like we’re in it for the long haul…” Scully raises an eyebrow, her perpetual state of doubt coming to the surface. He presses on, a tenuous grip on his confidence. “Since we’re partners on the X-Files, I mean, since it looks like...that’s gonna keep continuing…” He feels like he’s back in high school asking Sloane Rivers to the senior prom. He hopes this has a happier ending. 

He clears his throat. “What I’m trying to say is, I’d like to give you a key to my apartment so that...if you need to get in there ever...you can.  _ Without _ breaking the door down,” he adds with an awkward chuckle.

Scully actually  _ smiles _ at him. Sure, it’s tight-lipped like the kind a Southern lady might offer after saying ‘bless your heart,’ but still, it’s not the frown he expected.

“I doubt I’ll ever need to break  _ your _ door down, Mulder.”

“Why not?” His voice goes high. He’s almost offended.

She purses her lips. Pouty Scully always forces Mulder to fight back a smile. He clamps his teeth down on his tongue. With her crossed arms and pout, she has the air of a little girl imitating her nagging mother. “Have you looked at yourself?” she asks. 

“In the shower sometimes, yes,” Mulder deadpans.

There’s that eye-roll he’s come to expect. “How tall are you?” There’s exhaustion in her voice. She’s preemptively annoyed by his answer.

“Six feet. Six two if my loafers have a bit of a heel on them.”

“Uh-huh, and you’re a pretty strong guy, wouldn’t you say?”

“I could pick you up.” He lets the double entendre hang suggestively in the air. 

She humors him with direct eye contact, nothing more. “ _ Right. _ And you’ve put away dozens of violent offenders over the years, correct?”

Mulder nods, not sure where she’s going with this. He’s constantly intrigued by how she keeps him on his toes.

“And have you ever felt that one of them posed a physical threat to you if they were to be released?”

He slips his hands into his pockets. “No, I never really thought about it.”

“Exactly.  _ I  _ have to think about it. Before, during, and after a case.”

It figures that Scully would beat him to his own point. Mulder laughs. It only occurs to him how his laughter must look to her after he’s already done it.

“ _ Mulder!”  _ she screeches.

“I wasn’t laughing at what you said, I was laughing at what you  _ did. _ ”

“Gee, thanks, real comforting.”

“No, I mean, that’s the point I was trying to make--that you’re more susceptible to, urhm _ , _ bad things happening-- but I didn’t want to offend you.”

“Offend me? With the truth?”

“Yeah, I, um…” It occurs to him that he has miscalculated her, that she is not like any of the women he has ever known. His chest flutters, but his stomach sinks. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sure you’re more aware of that than anyone else.”

Scully finds his earnest attempt at an unnecessary apology endearing, but she won’t show it. “Uh-huh,” she responds, staring out into the distance, checking her surroundings even now. 

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to go at it alone,” Mulder continues. “I’ll watch your back too, if you let me.”

Despite his sweetness, Scully can’t resist toying with him. “You’ve had a partner before, haven’t you?” she smirks. “That’s kind of how it’s supposed to work.”

Mulder clasps his hands behind his back. The corners of his mouth turn up into a bashful, apologetic smile. This is the routine he used to perform when his parents yelled at him. Who says you have to grow out of childhood habits?

“Well, I…” He’s not sure where he’s going with that sentence, and Scully knows this. She relishes in his embarrassment.

“I’m just teasing, it’s very kind of you to be concerned.” She pats his shoulder. Turns out, someone saving your life makes you quite touchy-feely. “I’ll have a key made this weekend,” she promises.

Figuring Scully out feels like navigating a room full of laser beams. He may have to crawl, jump, or twist himself into otherwise unnatural shapes to get through, but--somehow--he always makes it. Each time he’s convinced he’s done the impossible, yet he finds himself even more stoked to take on her next challenge. Scully is his endless puzzle, his X-File to end all X-Files. He wouldn’t want it any other way. 

He slides his extra key off the chain, folds his fingers over it, and gently bumps his hand against Scully’s as they walk. She opens her fist, lets him place it in her palm, then curls her fingers around the metal. It’s still warm from his grasp. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs. Her gratitude goes deeper than the key, Mulder understands this.

“You’re welcome,” he hums. 

She is glad to have the key; he is glad she took it. She is glad he asked for her key; he is glad she will give him one. She is glad to be alive; he is glad that she lived. They have so many things to be thankful for. 


	2. First Impressions: Young at Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder gets a proper look at Scully's apartment for the first time. Surprises ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> missing scene from s1, ep 16, Young at Heart

It’s rare for him to have this many lights on past sunset, and he’s never bought a candle in his life. It’s nice, though. Warm and aromatic.  _ Homey. _ This is what he’s thinking as Scully shows Dr. Joseph Ridley out, closing and locking the door, bolting the chain. 

He has a lot to worry about at the moment, more than usual. He is being hunted, which means that Scully is being hunted, which means that he’s once again gotten an innocent woman caught in the thread-spun web of his life. He won’t admit it, but he’s glad that she called him, glad he can keep her company in her humble abode. 

This is the first time he’s gotten a proper look at her place, after all. Kicking down the door in pursuit of Tooms hardly counts. He didn’t have any time to adjust to his surroundings, instead relying on animal instinct to lead him toward the sounds of mutual struggle. His heart stopped, he suspects, when he saw Scully splayed on the bathroom tile, mowed down like a tree in a twister.  _ How many victims will I create in Samantha’s wake,  _ he wondered for about the thousandth time. 

There was little joy to be found in handcuffing Tooms to the tub and hauling him out. Scully insisted that he had saved her, but Mulder couldn’t think about it like that. The antithesis of being saved is succumbing. If he had failed, she could have been swept from existence, and it would be his fault. As far as Mulder’s concerned, he has no right to pat himself on the back for narrowly avoiding a mess he made. 

And now they were here--alone--and under the gun  _ again _ for a decision he made years ago. On his first case, before he was banished to the basement and christened King of Halloweentown. They don’t tell you at the Academy (or if they do, he hadn’t been paying attention) that when you capture violent convicts, you’ll be the first target they turn their trigger-happy heads toward when they inevitably get their hands on anything that can go boom. They also neglected to mention that people can rise from the dead, but Mulder saw that one coming. It’s always the wrong people returning from the Great Beyond. If he’s learned anything, it’s that.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly a comfort,” Scully says, plucking him from his trance as she reenters his line of sight. Her bare feet slap against the wood floor. She is small, he knows this, but she is so much smaller without heels to sell the illusion. He could shield her whole body with his.  _ Her own personal bulletproof vest. _ Perhaps there is some sense in their pairing. 

“What, finding out that the US government is financing Frankensteinian research into the fountain of youth doesn’t set you at ease?” he jokes. 

“It would be fascinating if their most successful subject weren’t a mass murderer,” she answers with a scientist’s curiosity. 

“Who has now been granted eternal life,” Mulder adds. 

“ _ Supposedly _ ,” she remarks, unable to keep the skeptic in her at bay.

“Supposedly,” Mulder mutters, letting her win.

She yawns, an involuntary signal to look at her watch. “Gosh, it’s already 10:30.” 

“Shit!” Mulder shoots up from his seat. Scully’s eyes follow him with alarm. “I forgot to fill the parking meter.”

Scully stifles a laugh. They really need to learn how to discern their crises. Her mind shot to far worse things than an empty parking meter. “We’re in the middle of Georgetown, Mulder. They’re gonna tow you, if they haven’t already.”

He pulls his coat on hastily. “Is there a number you call? Front desk, landlord, let them know you have a guest?”

“Guests still have to fill the meter.”

“You’re not helping me out here, Scully!”

She takes her coat off the hook and slips it on, calm as could be. “Let’s go down and see.” She grabs her keys off the entry table, then loosens the chain and twists the deadbolt. Mulder follows her like a kindergarten line leader behind their teacher. 

“I’m getting the sense this has happened before,” Mulder says as Scully presses the elevator’s down button. 

She rests her hands in her pockets. “Never this late. I’m not sure what time they start towing.”

“You must not have visitors often then, huh?”

“Not ones that stay overnight,” she answers. 

Mulder’s eyes slide over the contours of her face. “I find that hard to believe,” he replies softly.

“First time I’ve heard you say  _ that,”  _ Scully jests, overlooking his slip into sincerity. 

The elevator dings and ushers them in. Scully hits the button for the lobby.

“Hey, just because a man believes in aliens doesn’t mean he’s gullible enough to fall for the whole demure act.”

The elevator closes, and they are alone.

“Believe what you want, Mulder. There’s no acting involved.”

Scully hates elevator music, but she wishes there were some to make the moment a little less awkward. Mulder, apparently, doesn’t get this memo. 

“Didn’t you have a boyfriend when you started out?” he blurts as the elevator descends. “Some typical white boy name, I don’t remember it…”

“Ethan.” She keeps her eyes trained on the doors. 

“Ethan.” He snaps his fingers. “Yeah, that’s it.”

She grazes her teeth with her tongue. “We weren’t very serious, and I just didn’t have time. It wasn’t fair to him.”

“Mmm,” Mulder fidgets.

“You know how much the FBI rules your life,” she offers, still in the midst of her staring contest with the door.

“Yeah, sure,” he languishes, well aware that he has no life for the Bureau to disrupt. The elevator bottoms out and breaks their bubble of secrecy as it opens to the lobby. 

They step out, and Scully continues. “It can be quite maddening to your significant other.”

_ Bold of her to assume he has loads of experience in that department.  _ She glances at him finally, his hesitation tipping her off. “Or...don’t you?”

Mulder shrugs. “I’m more of a one and done kind of guy, for that very reason.” 

“What about Phoebe?”

“Who do you think taught me that lesson?”

Scully scoffs. “ _ Mulder…”  _ She pushes through the front entrance, tapping the door with her elbow to keep it open for him.

“What, you’ve never tried the bachelorette life?”

They both clench up as the winter chill hits them. DC is alive around them despite the hour. 

“One and done--that’s a degrading way to put it, that’s all,” Scully explains. “Which way did you park?”

He leads them to the left, rubbing his hands together. He’ll be warmth enough for both of them if he works on it. “You act like we’re in colonial times or something. I’m not forcing anyone into anything, it’s a consensual exchange.”

“But do they know you’re not gonna call them?” she muses, her voice a knife into butter.

He shrugs. “They have my number.”

Scully pulls her jacket tighter around her. Sometimes she forgets that Mulder is--at his core--a  _ guy.  _ Then, as if she needed any more evidence--“So the ole one night rodeo isn’t your scene, huh?” 

Scully shakes her head, forces a smile away. It’s fun to skirt around larger truths with him.

“But don’t you ever need…” Their eyes meet. Scully’s eager to see how he’ll finish this sentence. He chooses carefully. “...satisfaction?”

She smirks. “I keep myself satisfied.”

“ _ Ooo, Scully. _ Remind me not to look in your bedside drawer.”

She ignores him, looks away. “How far down the fucking block did you park?” 

He laughs. He can count on one hand how many times she’s swore in front of him, and every occurrence makes his heart swell. “We’re in the middle of Georgetown, Scully, remember?” he teases. “You’re lucky I didn’t just turn around and go back home.”

“I’m beginning to think it would be a good thing if you had,” she retorts. 

“You’re the one who called me about a disgraced doctor at your door,” he reminds her, his voice light. 

“And I didn’t really appreciate the joke about the mirror,” she murmurs. 

“Oh, but it was right in front of me.” He elbows her playfully-- “And you!” 

“Har-har.”

Scully recognizes Mulder’s dark gray Ford. A yellow boot glimmers against the streetlight. 

“Goddamn it,” Mulder mutters, jogging toward the Taurus. He takes a notice off his windshield and reads---”DC Department of Public Works. Call the Department of Motor Vehicles at 202-737-4404 to pay fee and request boot removal.”

“I doubt that’ll do you much good until morning,” Scully says. Then, without missing a beat--”You can stay with me if you’d like. In the guest room. I’m closer to the office anyway.”

The car, the street, a homeless shelter, or Scully’s?  _ That’s a real tough one. _ Hell, now that he’s gotten a look at it, he’d pick Scully’s place over his on a regular day. It’s bigger, in a nicer neighborhood, and it has a  _ bed. _ He may as well ask if she’s in the market for a roommate. 

“I’ll take one night at Chateau Scully,” Mulder hums. He grins like a little boy who hasn’t yet learned the value of a poker face. “ _ But I thought that wasn’t your scene. _ ” 

Scully kicks the ground absently. “On second thought, you have a perfectly good car right there….” 

He reins himself in. “And I have a very forgiving--and may I add, strong and independent--partner with a warm apartment and an extra bed.”

Scully smirks. “Aren’t you lucky?”

She strolls in the direction of her building, weaving as she walks. Mulder falls into step beside her. He’s not sure whether it’s exhaustion setting in or something else, but she bumps him as she goes; an elbow here, a shoulder there, her hip meeting his thigh. Touch starvation is no stranger to either one of them, it appears. He places a hand on the small of her back, guides her home. A spectator would think they were on a first date, frolicking in the perilous space before goodbye. There will be no goodbye for them tonight, though not quite a hello either.

As they drift down her hallway, Scully digs for the key in her coat pocket. “No, no, I’ve got it,” Mulder protests, pulling his own keychain out. “Gotta make sure it doesn’t break in the lock,” he chuckles. 

_Men and their chivalry._ Scully rolls her eyes, but lets him do the honors anyway. When the key successfully unlocks the door, Mulder smiles like he’s just picked the lock of the Smithsonian. As with most things he does, Scully finds this simultaneously annoying and amusing. 

“Did you honestly think it wouldn’t--” 

The smell of smoke stops her short. 

“The candle…” Mulder points to one of the candles Scully lit in the living room. It has tipped over, the fire spreading to the fake plant on the coffee table. For better or for worse, the flames are contained enough not to have set off the building’s smoke detectors. Mulder whips off his jacket and drops it over the candle and the plant, cutting off the oxygen supply to the smoldering mess. 

“Whoa…” Scully breathes, emerging from a split-second scenario in which her life flashed before her eyes. 

“Yeah…” Mulder concurs with the same amount of shock. He plows a hand through his hair. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think that would work. Felt pretty damn cool, though.”

Scully lets out a hollow laugh, then lifts Mulder’s coat to survey the damage. The delinquent candle melted down like an over-sharpened pencil, complicit in burning the plant’s artificial leaves into embers and branding the table with soot. Stray trails of smoke waft past them. Scully says a silent prayer that they won’t retroactively set off the fire alarm, then slides off her coat.

“I think you’ve earned that night at Chateau Scully,” she tells Mulder.

He raises an eyebrow. ”Oh?”  _ Is she implying what he thinks she’s implying? _

Grogginess wearing on her, Scully points down the hallway. “Last door on the right. Enjoy your stay, sir.” She turns on her heel and walks off in the opposite direction. It takes Mulder about two seconds to register that she is going to her own bedroom, that he has been pointed toward the guest room. He laughs off his momentary indecency, then heads toward his accommodations. Minus the government conspiracy, booted car, and burning candle, it’s been a pretty good night. Scully is safe, he is safe, and the apartment is still standing. _All is right in the world._


	3. First Impressions: EBE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this post-ep scene for EBE, Scully gets her first proper look at Mulder's apartment while helping him remove the bug from his power socket and finds out much more about him than she bargained for.

As they reach apartment 42, Mulder smirks in the direction of his partner. “You wanna christen your key?” he asks, fondly recalling his stay at her place the previous week. 

“Not particularly, though I’m getting the feeling you’ll confiscate it if I don’t,” Scully surmises, reaching into her coat pocket for her keys.

“Me?  _ Never,”  _ Mulder jests. He continues his bit as Scully turns her key in the door. “If you see a locksmith here in a few days, just disregard that.”

“I won’t take it personally,” she says, entering his place. “I’m sure I’m not the only girl with access to Fox Mulder’s apartment.”

“Damn, Scully!” Mulder shuts the door behind him. “Are you slut-shaming me?”

She smiles slyly. “Just making an assumption.”

“Well, you assume wrong, buckaroo.” He throws his keys and wallet on the table. “The only woman with a set of keys to this fortress is my mother. And, well, you. There’s maybe one other who knows where the spare key is, but that’s about it.”

“Spare key? In an apartment building? How does that work?”

“Uh-uh-uh, you’re not getting an answer out of me that easily, Scully.”

“Fine, keep your secrets, Mulder.” She waves her key in front of his face. “I already have what I need.”

“Because I was pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to find the spare one,” he retorts. 

“But I could pick the lock---or even better---kick the door down.”

“In your dreams.”

“No, in  _ your _ dreams.” Scully’s blue eyes pierce him, a faint smile on her lips. 

He chuckles. She’s not often full of herself, yet it’s so becoming to her. He enjoys humoring it. “Scully, do you have a satellite dish hooked up to my brain or what?”

Her smile comes naturally this time. “I get a lot of static, but sometimes I can make out an image or two.”

“Well, I hope you aren’t tuning in around 3am because insomnia makes a man’s brain do some crazy things,” he says, his mouth tilting mischievously. 

“I’m sure,” she smirks. 

The mess around them alerts them to their reality: they have been flirting in earshot of the bug that was giving them away, the reason Mulder had uprooted everything he owned. The little spy has yet to be removed, and the place has yet to be put back together.

“I pride myself on keeping this place at a charming level of clutter, and I’m getting the feeling this is exceeding that,” Mulder murmurs.

“Oh good, cause I thought you just lived like this,” Scully teases.

He smiles. “You caught me on a bad day.”

“ _ Likewise.”  _ Scully looks around. She creeps toward the power socket that the bug is lodged in. “So you were saying that you’re losing faith in the X-Files?”

“What?”

She nods toward the bug. This is the perfect opportunity to plant some falsehoods that will work in their favor. “It’s a hopeless game, after all, and a person can only take so much.”

Mulder gets the memo and stoops toward the outlet. “True. Being called Spooky all the time really breaks a man’s spirit.”

“As does being called Mrs. Spooky.”

Mulder’s mouth slackens. He takes a detour into genuine territory. “You’ve been called Mrs. Spooky?...By who?”

“Oh, just Tom Colton, my friend from the Academy. Though I doubt he was the first to come up with it.”

“That guy’s an asshole,” Mulder scoffs. 

“I know.” They exchange cooperative smiles. Mulder did not expect her to agree so readily. Her ease glides through him like a cup of hot cocoa. 

Never one to let sentimental moments linger, Scully runs a finger along the wedged-in radio transmitter. “Screwdriver?” she mouths. 

Mulder heads to the kitchen, then ambles back in with a Phillips head. He offers it to her like they’re in an operating room. “This sufficient enough, Dr. Scully?”

She accepts it and kneels down, digging the tool into the edge of the socket, attempting to pry the spy free.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to see if electrocution really happens like it does in cartoons,” Mulder muses. “Hair standing on edge, soot covering you, a comical speech bubble above your head. All that.” He takes her right wrist, gently, playfully, and directs it closer to the openings on the socket.

“No, Mulder, I’m good,” she says, breaking free of his grasp. “You can try that on your own time.”

“Scout’s honor?”

Scully rolls her eyes. “ _ So, _ as you were saying, you’re thinking about quitting the X-files? Am I hearing that right?”

She smirks at him. Mulder bites his lip. For such a pious woman, she sure likes to play devil. Through gritted teeth--“Yeah, and I’m not sure that the X-Files would go on without me. I have a feeling they’d just transfer you somewhere else and that would be that.”

“A girl can dream.”

“Hey!” Mulder swats her.

“ _ Just kidding.”  _ She frees part of the wire that the bug is attached to, pulling it carefully out of the crevice. “I’d like to keep proving you wrong for as long as I can.” She glances at him, expecting an objection but getting a smile instead. She continues, “Though I suppose the X-Files getting shut down would be my biggest success yet.” 

“Ouch.” 

She doesn’t mean it, for course, and she hopes he knows this. Nothing has been as intellectually enriching for her as their months together, but the transmitter has heard too much already. Her sweet talk quota has run out. 

She twists the Phillips head into the space once filled by the wire. The transmitter doesn’t budge. Showing no signs of strain, she switches from kneeling to squatting, employing her upper body as leverage. 

Mulder has refrained from offering to help for two reasons: one, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t accept it, and two, well, this handy-dandy display of hers is sending blood rushing to a sacred place. He quickly realizes that said place would be eye-level with his squatting partner if she were to turn around, so he kneels beside her, closing his knees as best he can. It doesn’t make much of a difference.

Needing to keep her attention away from the bulge in his pants, he moves their fake conversation forward. “So you would…” he clears his throat and shifts a bit “...support me if I gave it all up?”

She answers like it’s a genuine question. “It’s entirely your decision, but yes, if you’re certain that aliens don’t exist after all, I don’t see how you can go on with the X-Files.”

“And I...am certain...that aliens--um, about aliens,” he stammers, suddenly wishing he had gone to drama school. 

She looks at him, lingering a little too long. He’s having a hard time with this, a stupid fake conversation that probably isn’t even convincing. She expected him to have fun with the bit, but instead he looks distressed. “You okay, Mulder?” she says, pausing her work.

He folds his hands over his lap. “Y-yeah. I’m fine. Just a little depressing realizing that you’re ready to give up your dream career.” Her eyes flicker to his cupped hands, the realization dawning on her. She turns back to the power socket, feigning naivety. 

“Almost done here,” she murmurs. 

“I never knew you were so gifted,” he teases. 

“Apparently not,” Scully quips, throwing a glance backward. She doesn’t want to call him out, it’s not exactly something he can hide after all. Some guys could, but based on what she’s observing, Mulder does not have that luxury. It’s a small price to pay, she supposes. 

She rams the screwdriver down the edge of the socket, prying the transmitter free with stunning force.  _ Stunningly erotic, _ in Mulder’s mind. She straightens up, forcing Mulder to his feet as well. He curses his tented groin area and the undeniable fact that Scully’s Bureau-trained eyes will spot it, if they haven’t already.

She doesn’t let on, clasping the tiny spy in her palm and holding it out so her partner can get a clear view of their betrayer. “You wanna do the honors?” she asks, an eyebrow arched.

He’s not very fond of the concept of existence at the moment, so he shakes his head. “It’s all yours, Sculls.”

“Sculls?” He’s never called her that before, nor had he ever even thought of it until .2 seconds before it came out of his mouth.

He shrugs. “I thought it was gonna fit the vibe. I regret that now.”

Scully chuckles, not sure what else she could give him. “You are forgiven,” she says, throwing the bug to the ground. This is the only time her personally-regimented work heels have come in handy. She lays the edge of the heel against the spy and shifts all her weight to that foot, snuffing the life out of the transmitter’s wired connections. There’s a satisfying crush as the metal pieces part from each other.

“Nice work, Agent Scully,” Mulder grins. He feels like he needs to stand on his head to cut off the continuous downward blood flow he’s experiencing. 

Scully’s cheeks have flushed with exertion. She tilts her chin so she can look straight into his eyes. “I think that earned me an apartment tour, huh?” 

He bites his lip to fight his instinct to smile. “A tour? Are you sure? There’s not much to see.”

“Well, show it to me then and we’ll get that over with.” Her gaze sears him. If she touched him, he’d be gone. 

He sucks in a breath and links his hands together to cover his crotch. “Right this way, madam.” He leads her back into the front hall. Ideally, he would gesture and dress this up like a theme park tour guide, but his hands are a bit occupied. Instead, he nods toward the place he set his keys and wallet, what might be generously called a dining room table. 

“That’s the table I’ve set up to give the illusion that I don’t eat every meal on the couch.” He nods to the kitchen. “That’s the room where the fridge is.” He waddles back into the living room, Scully following after him. “And this is where pretty much all the action happens. It’s the only room with a TV, after all.”

Scully smiles, points to the closed side door. “Is this the bedroom?”

“Uhh…” Mulder swishes spit around in his mouth. “That’s the room that goes to the bathroom.”

Scully narrows her eyes. “What the hell does that mean, Mulder?”

“Open it up and see for yourself.”

She does, and my god, does she regret it. It’s like he’s keeping a storage pod in his own apartment, it’s so stuffed with willy-nilly junk. A deflated basketball, clothes thrown around as if in a gigantic laundry hamper. And rising above all of it is a four-poster bed with... _ is that a mirror? _ ...hanging over it. 

“Jesus, Mulder. Tell me you don’t sleep in here.”

“Without a TV to keep me company?” he jokes. “Hell no.”

“So you sleep on the couch,” she challenges, “when you’d have a perfectly good bed if you just fixed the room up?”

Mulder nods. “I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to sleep with your reflection hanging over you, but it’s very unsettling,” he wisecracks. 

She smirks. “You have psychological issues.” 

“Thank you.”

“Do you at least use your bathroom as a bathroom?” she asks, almost afraid of the answer.

“I use my bathroom for a lot of things,” he responds matter-of-factly. 

Scully scoots past him, freeing herself from the junk room. “And on that note, goodbye Mulder.”

“You’re not even gonna help clean up the mess I made in my frantic search for the bug that was giving  _ both of us _ away?” 

“It fits right in from what I’ve seen.” She sneaks toward the front door. “Besides, I think some alone time would be beneficial to you.” 

A laugh escapes him. “ _ Yeah, _ I wouldn’t use your key to come back in anytime soon if I were you.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Scully replies with a smirk. She opens the door for herself, seeing as Mulder is too chicken to move his hands. “Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Night, Scully,” he says, doing an odd half-bow in lieu of any other salutation. 

His partner shuts the door, leaving him with his hoarder house, his erection, and a lot of work to do. 


End file.
